Wedding (and Weight) Planning

It's been a while since I've posted. Life gets in the way of blogging. :)

I've been in rapid wedding planning mode. We have a little over six months left before the big day, and we've got the majority of the things covered:

• Date, check
• Ceremony and reception locations, check
• Pre-Cana certification (for those non-Catholics out there, this is a wedding preparation course), check
  
• DJ, check
• Photographer, check
• Florist, check
  
• Honeymoon, check (the hotel at least)
• Wedding dress, check
• Getting in shape to wear the dress..... *screech*

Ok. I've been a wee-bit lax in the area of getting in shape, and losing some weight I managed to pack on in the past year. So...I called Jenny. Jenny Craig.

I started the Jenny Craig weight loss program last Thursday night, and I have to say, the food isn't bad. Because I like structure, this program is perfect. They give me a daily menu planner, and I buy the food there. It could not be simpler!

My challenge is the size of the food portions. I think this will get better as my stomach adjusts to what is deemed "healthy sized" meals. I had an a-ha moment about this. I didn't realize one could actually be addicted to food. In the greater Philadelphia area, it is a smorgasbord of food - good and bad. And there's so much of it, it's difficult not to be tempted.

I also have to learn how to eat when I go out with friends and family. I have a book, and I can't wait to see the look on my peeps' faces when I start hacking away at meats to make sure they're the size of my fist.

It will be times out that I wish I was born with man hands.

Musically Challenged

As part of everything SCF and I have to do for the wedding, we have the challenge of picking out some music.

Why, you may ask, is music such a challenge? Perhaps I should mention now: SCF is a huge music buff. I am humbled by his vast array of musical knowledge. I am merely someone who likes a little of everything, and can't tell you the name of any song titles. So, if I have a song in my head, I either have to hear it again and say, "Oh, yes. That's the song," or ask the SCF.

So far we know what we don't want. We've already decided "anything with animals" is to be excluded - for example, there will be no Chicken Dance or Alley Cat. We've nixed the garter tradition, so I guess that means no Beyonce's "Single Ladies." I personally have never been a fan of the tradition (I like the Beyonce song), and given most of our friends and family are already married, it doesn't make much sense.

We've managed to pick out our first dance song. Ok - SCF picked it out and I wept when I heard it and pronounced that had to be the song. We've found some agreed upon music for dinner and dancing (everything from Michael Buble to Metallica). Now we're at the stage where we need to pick out the "entry" music (we may go with something from Prince) and the "Father Daughter" and "Mother Son" dance music.

This will either be a lot of fun or excruciatingly painful for the SCF... :)

Little Mouse, Big City

I've started off the new year not only with Manfriend now being my SCF (super-cute fiance), but also with a new job. After four and a half years at the small consulting company owned and operated by good friends, I said goodbye and started at a rather large company in the city.

I am both excited and anxious about it. I'm excited, because it feels like I am exactly where I should be. The team with whom I will be working has welcomed be warmly, and they are very nice. I'm anxious, because it's in the city. It's a really easy commute, don't get me wrong. The train system is fantastic - especially since I just missed the union strike. But I've been a suburbanite all of my life. The prospect of going to the city every day is a little daunting.

My first day was fine. As luck would have it, as I walked out of the train station, there was a lovely young woman there who was going to the same orientation I was, so we traveled together that day.

The rest of the week I managed to get to the train station on time and to walk to and from my office building without getting lost. The city, for the most part, is quite lovely. There is so much architectural eye candy there, and interspersed there are a lot of fun shops and eateries.

As much as there is the beauty, there are also the harsh realities, which include cold weather, the unfortunate (and sometimes scary) homeless souls seeking shelter where ever they can, and...rats. I saw a big one skitter across a walking path one day and froze dead in my tracks. I'm used to seeing deer. They're prancy and they have cute fluffy tails. Rats...not so much.

Catching Up, Part III: Ending on a High Note

As you may have seen in my previous posts, I mention Manfriend quite a bit.

I love him.

He is a good man. He has made me believe life can be good, and that there is love and happiness after divorce. He is kind. He is sexy. He makes me laugh. He is a sweetheart.

On December 13, he got down on one knee, told me he didn't want to wait anymore to start the next phase of our lives, and asked me to marry him. After the initial shock wore off, I said yes.

My parents proceeded to ask when we thought we'd get married, and I said it all depended on when my annulment arrived. The last correspondence I received indicated it would take up to a year for it to be decided.

Four days after Manfriend proposed, I received a letter in the mail from the Archdiocese Tribunal:

"This letter is formal notification that the Reverend Judges of this Tribunal have handed down an AFFIRMATIVE decision and that the nullity of the [NAMES] marriage has been judged as proven in the eyes of the Church.

"You are hereby informed that you are free to marry in the Catholic Church insofar as your marriage to [EX'S NAME] is concerned..."

There are other formalities in the letter. I could barely read them through my tears. I couldn't believe it. I thought I'd be waiting for months for this letter. And it was there, in front of me. I called Manfriend at work and told him the news. He was initially speechless, and then said, "Wow. Talk about perfect timing!"

I know!!!

Manfriend and I talked later that night, and we decided to look forward to all the positive things in the coming year.

I feel so blessed and happy right now. I am overjoyed.

Love you, Manfriend. I can't wait to be Mrs. Manfriend in late 2010!

Catching Up, Part II: Coumadin Free!

In early September, after an ultrasound of my leg and blood work completed, my doctor informed me I no longer had to take Coumadin.

I can't tell you how relieved I was.

I've since had a follow-up ultrasound of my leg, and everything is still clear! I am so happy!

While there are moments where I still freak out a little if I feel a twinge in my leg, I feel like I sleep a lot better at night now.

Let's face it. My early 2009 was not terrific, but things definitely picked up!

Catching Up, Part I: Death and Heartache

Hello:

I just looked at the last time I wrote anything here, and I'm embarrassed it's been that long. There's so much to tell, though, so I guess it was worth the delay in posting anything. It's been a roller coaster of a year.

Let's catch you up, shall we?

Death and Heartache

In August, I lost my beloved Scottish Terrier to intestinal and liver cancer. He was seven years old, and such a joy. There isn't a day that goes by that I don't think of him or miss him. I am grateful to have my 12 year old Boxer girl, but he was the one that always greeted me at the door. I miss my furry welcoming committee.

When I found out the diagnosis, Manfriend looked at me and asked me if I was going to contact my ex. I stared at him. I really didn't want to, but at the same time I knew if it was me I'd want to know (which is exactly what Manfriend said to me). My Scotty's timing was interesting, as I had to contact my ex anyway to inform him I'd be going through the Catholic annulment process and he'd have to complete some paperwork.

I e-mailed him on a Sunday with the news about the dog and about the annulment. He wrote me back immediately and told me he wanted to see him before I took him to be put to sleep. The next day, I called into work to let them know I would have to work from home for a couple of days. I had already taken a half day, as I had to go to the Archdiocese of Philadelphia in the afternoon to start the annulment process, which consisted of providing payment, completing initial paperwork, and being deposed by a Deacon.

I asked my Dad to watch the dogs while I traveled to Philadelphia. My mom went with me for the ride. We parked and went to the Archdiocese's building, and I signed in as my mom found a chair in the waiting room.

Side note: When I get nervous I tend to make inappropriate observations..and then say them out loud. Case in point: I had no idea what to expect as part of the deposition, and as my mom took out a baby blanket to embroider for my niece, I looked above her and noticed a painted picture of Jesus. It looked like Jesus was giving gang signs. I mentioned that to my mom, and she just looked at me and said, "Keep it up, Cher." I think she was worried I would botch up my chance at the annulment if the wrong person walked by and overheard me.

The Deacon, a very nice older gentleman, came for me. I handed over all the necessary paperwork, and he informed me he'd be interviewing me, and the deposition would be cassette-taped. It started off pleasantly enough: How was your childhood? How many years of Catholic school did you attend? And then, we switched to: When did you notice changes in your marriage? What do you think it was that ended your marriage?

Between my dog dying and reliving tough moments in my marriage, I burst into tears. The second half of the interview consists of me bawling my eyes out and the Deacon reassuring me it would be okay and handing over half the contents of the tissue box on his desk. I'm glad he took notes. I don't think anyone attempting to listen to the tape would have understood the second part.

Completely drained, I walked out, paid the fee, and Mom and I walked back to my car in relative silence. I drove home, asked Dad how the dog was, and he looked at me and said, "he's okay" in a way that let me know it was time to make an appointment to put him to sleep the next day.

I called my vet to let her know I needed to schedule it, and we scheduled it for the next night. I planned on spoiling him rotten until I had to take him and say goodbye.

After a long day, Manfriend came over to spend some time with him. We went outside, and as I look at the street in front of my house, a familiar red truck goes by. I checked my phone and saw he left a text message indicating he was staying at a local hotel and wanted to know if it was okay to see him that night. Sure. Why not? I had already been kicked in the balls all day that day, why not just wrap it up. I agreed, and with that, after over a year, I saw my ex for the first time.

Admittedly, it was difficult to see him. He came in and hugged me. I just stood there like a statue. Once that was out of the way, he spent some time with the two dogs. When I told him I had made the arrangements, my 40-something year old ex burst into tears. He loved that dog, and while I was sympathetic, it was almost more than I could bear. I grabbed tissues for him, we exchanged "how is your family" pleasantries, and then I walked him to the door. He thanked me for allowing him to say goodbye, hugged me again (and I stood like a statue again), and then walked out the door.

Before he got into his truck - and again, why not continue the ball-kicking - I asked him a question that had bothered me for a long time. I gave him a name, and asked him how he knew her. Very casually, he said, "Oh, we're dating." Just like that. We're dating. Keep in mind I still have annulment deposition trauma circling in my head. I told him that was interesting since her number was all over our mobile number bill since the December before we got divorced. Again, nonchalantly, "We were just friends." Uh-huh. A friend of which he had never spoken. As emotional as I was, my heartbreak was complete, and I felt like I could move forward with my life.

The next day, I spent as much time as I could with my little Scotty as I could (in between eight conference calls throughout the day). At about 2pm, my ex texted me again. He wanted to see him one last time before he headed back home. I acquiesced, but told him I barely had time to say goodbye. He arrived at my house at 4pm, pet him, asked me to take a picture of him and the dog with his cell phone, I snapped the shot, and then he walked out my front door, hugged me again, and drove off by 4:15pm.

Manfriend picked me up an hour later, and he held my dog as I drove to the vet's. I carried my dog in with Manfriend in tow, and asked him to sit in the waiting room while I had my appointment. I've never had to say good bye to a pet via euthanasia before, so I was a mess. The vet came in to the room, and she gave him an initial shot, and then she administered the final drug, and I felt him slip away.

There are no words for that moment.

I kissed his forehead for the last time, made the cremation arrangements, and walked out. They give you so much love, and you can only hope they felt happy and just as loved when they exit the world.

I was so grateful Manfriend was there for me. (Thank you, Manfriend. I love you for that.)

I know this was a bummer of a post upon returning to writing, but don't worry. There is good news and happiness in the follow-up posts.

Being Smacked With A Message

I've re-learned every day is a gift. I was actually smacked pretty hard with the message this week.

A colleague of mine lost her husband to a pulmonary embolism three weeks ago. He was 46. He is survived by his wife (my colleague) and his two daughters, ages 12 and 8.

I'm going to give you the short version of the chain of events. Four weeks ago, my colleague called out of work. She said her husband took a bad fall and he had to go to the hospital. He cracked his head open and broke an orbital bone (near his eye). I later found out from her he was a lifer on coumadin, due to a blood clot he experienced in 1995 after back surgery. Three weeks ago, she said she had to work from home, because she was picking her husband up from the hospital after surgery (he had blood on the brain from the fall). She expected to take him home that day. She received a call indicating he had fallen. (He collapsed in the hospital's Dispatch area). She went to the hospital, where she found out he was "code blue." He had a moment where he was awake, and said something was wrong, that his chest hurt. Despite their best efforts, he did not make it.

I spoke with my colleague yesterday, to see how she was doing, and she's still trying to process everything in her head. She repeatedly said "I just don't understand. I was supposed to bring him home." I'm glad this wasn't a face to face discussion. I had tears streaming down my face as she told me the chain of events.

Then she asked me about all things related to my experience with DVT and the pulmonary embolism, but my experience was so different from her husband's. I felt terribly I could not give her comfort or answers to her questions.

After I finished my phone call with her, I wanted to walk out of the office and hide. Escape. Run. Never once while I was in the hospital did I think I would die. I imagine that's what he was thinking, too. They would just patch him up. He would go home to his family and resume his life. I think about that poor man, and my stomach churns.

It's been a while since I've really thought about the series of events with my situation earlier in the year. I make no apologies about the self-centeredness of this next comment: That could have been me. I could have been dead, at 36.

A friend of mine said to me a couple of weeks ago, "I don't understand why you are doing the fitness boot camp. You don't like getting up early, you aren't a fitness junkie, and you don't like being outdoors. Why?" I just shrugged my shoulders, unable to articulate why exactly I decided to participate in something that is so contradictory to who I am.

If I had to answer that question today, I would say, "Because I don't want fear to cripple me." I had my toe in the grave without fully realizing it until three weeks ago, despite the numbers of medical staff, Manfriend and others telling me how lucky I was during that timeframe. I remember being terrified of every pain and ache when I first started the DDIP. I remember pulling a groin muscle in the first week and thinking I had another DVT. I was afraid of the pain and the inconvenience of the DVT and PE earlier this year. Fear can be downright paralytic. I had to mentally fight the fear through the physical activity.

That phone call on Friday was an epiphany. As my Instructor said this week, "The best things in life are not things."

Woo-hoo!

I can't believe I did it, but I did.

I "graduated" from Fitness Boot Camp. I didn't quit the Squad. I managed to get through most of the running (still, not my favorite). I enjoyed being outside, often covered in grass clippings and mud. I looked forward to starting off Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays at "zero dark thirty" with 100+ crazy people and an incredibly disciplined and motivated set of instructors.

On Friday, after an integrity run (we all stayed together - left no one behind) and a series of insane calisthenics, we huddled together for graduation. Each of the new recruits received certificates and dog tags. They honored select recruits for their motivation, discipline and heart. Someone from the squad catered a graduation breakfast (for which I could not, unfortunately, stay).

Here's the nutty thing: After the first two weeks where I could barely walk or breathe, I've come to a place where I crave this time. I've signed up for the next session.

Fabulous: The Millionaire Matchmaker

I'm always on the go. This is the first night in a very long time I've had a night to myself. Just my two sleepy dogs, the television and me. While I miss Manfriend tonight, I feel like the "me" time is so needed.

I made my way through all the premium channels, and nothing. Then, my pastry-puff, mind-numbing salvation: Bravo TV. The entree: The Millionaire Matchmaker. The star: Patti Stanger.

I love this woman. She tells it how it is. Present company included, men and women should follow the Millionaire's Club rules for the participants.

I love watching her verbally beat the crap out of her clients. They get frustrated; they get irritated; but then a light bulb goes off and they start to listen to her. And you know what? She's right. Wanna know something else? A lot of them find happiness when they follow the rules.

However, when they don't follow the rules...drama. Lots and lots of drama.

Both scenarios are great television. I cheer for the happy couples and the men who follow the rules!

Rest and Relaxation, Damnit

I need to get my head in order. Things seem to be moving faster than I can handle at work, home and personal. I'm sitting on my couch, my hamstrings and knees completely sore from a week of working out at fitness boot camp. I'm making an active effort to ensure I spend equal amounts of time with Manfriend, family and girlfriends. I don't want anyone feeling like I'm ignoring them or that I want to spend less time with them. My head hurts from all the complications related to the several projects on which I am engaged. Even my day off this week felt like work. I'm either too distracted or too tired to settle down and do the things I need to do. Laundry is my continual enemy. My writing time seems to diminish each week. I know consulting is not something I want to do for the rest of my life, but I don't have the brain power to really examine what it is I want to do that can also provide the same amount of financial security.

I'm desperate to find balance and to avoid the mistakes I've made in the past. I seem to be falling short in areas.

Honestly, I'm burnt out. I could really use a break. Unfortunately, with Purple Leg at the beginning of this year, my vacation time is scant at best for the rest of the year.

A little rest and relaxation is in order. So, this weekend I'm doing as little as possible - with the exception of laundry.

Second Chances

I watched Sex and the City for the umpteenth time. I really am a sap for the romantic comedy.

In a scene with all four girls, Samantha talks about not being happy all the time in her relationship, and looks at the other girls for agreement. She asks Charlotte how many times she's really happy in her marriage. Charlotte, the only one not in turmoil in the movie, says, "I'm happy every day. Maybe not all the time every day, but I'm happy every day."

If you were a fan of the show like I was, you know that Charlotte's road to happiness was not simple or straight-laced. She was married to someone who couldn't...perform. The two of them couldn't work it out for additional differences, and eventually divorced. This shattered Charlotte's view of the fairy-tale marriage she always wanted. And then she met Harry Goldenblatt.

Sometimes, like Charlotte's storyline, happiness comes in the form of second chances.

I dig that concept.

Exhaustipated

I'm a little run-down after this week.

For starters, my hot water heater broke. This is after almost a month of trodding down to the basement every three to four days to reset it so I could get hot water. Tuesday night, Manfriend went into the basement to check if there was any water from the torrential downpour we've been experiencing in our area. I heard him bellow, "Cher...I think you better get down here." Never a good sign. I walk down the stairs, and it's like Amazon rain-forest humid. I see water pouring from the overflow of the water heater, and it appears to be raining from my ceiling.

Shit.

There's water dripping from the ceiling, and from all the house wires, too. Time to call Dad.

Manfriend and Dad determined, thankfully, the water dripping from the ceiling was condensation, and not a broken pipe. They dried everything using a leaf blower and shop vacuum, and then instructed me to call my service company. A technician came out and replaced the lower element, and said someone else would return in the morning to replace the upper element and the relief valve.

Wednesday, the technician came and replaced the remaining parts. I was working from home. As he was downstairs fixing things, my internet connectivity went dead. I was not happy, as I was in the middle of a meeting which required me to use netmeeting, a webconferencing tool. After he finished, I asked him if he had touched anything other than the hot water heater. He said no. While happy I would have hot water like normal people do, I was very frustrated my connection could not be restored. Because I looked like hell and refused to go to the client site looking the way I did, I packed everything up and worked at the local supermarket's wi-fi cafe, which is about a mile or so away from my house.

Do you know how difficult it is to facilitate a conference call while someone on the loud speaker is yelling "PICK UP ON AISLE EIGHT?" Side note: Peeps at the grocery store, please - you have a loud speaker. There's no reason to SHOUT!

Thursday morning, I turn on my shower faucet, and guess what? No. Hot. Water. I could feel myself unhinge. I called the service company begging them to get someone out later in the evening. My buddy John talked me off the proverbial ledge, explaining it was most likely a circuit breaker issue. I took the quickest shower in my life (I had lukewarm water.), and got to work early. I tore home after an exhaustive day of meetings, and met up with my Dad. He took a look my basement configuration, went over to the array of switch and fuse boxes, and found the breaker for the hot water. Click. Let the Seraphim sing - HOT WATER! I called the service company and canceled the visit. The cable company technician arrived, and replaced some old splitters, and I had wonderful, glorious internet connectivity again! Woo-hoo!

Friday, I got up at 4:30am for my fitness boot camp session, and the majority of it was running. Yep. Running. My exercise kryptonite. We were to run a two-mile course, and then come back for two to three exercises (push-ups, flutter kicks/crunches, and squats). My running was more run-jog-walk-drag-get yelled at to pick up the pace-run-jog-walk-walk-run the home stretch-collapse. From there, took a FABULOUS hot shower at my house, and then worked from 9am to 11pm.

I crawled into bed on Friday, and swore I would sleep through to Sunday. I slept...and woke up at 7am. *whimper* I couldn't fall back to sleep again, and got up for the day. I returned my client manager's text to hear his feedback and to provide him with any updates I had on the previous day activities, had lunch with a couple of friends, and went to Manfriend's house for dinner and hanging out.

Today will be laundry day, and anything else that comes up. I'm hoping there's a nap somewhere in this day's agenda. :-)

I think I've grown gills...

What is up with all of the rain? Don't get me wrong: It's great for the greenery. But, sheesh.

This morning I woke up to the news and saw the weather forecast, which indicated to me not only would the roads be slick, but the traffic would be horrendous, too.

I wasn't disappointed. It took me 2.5 hours to get to my client site today. Boo.

Tomorrow, I will work out in the great outdoors. It will be soggy and muddy. Awesome.

Not Too Bad Today...My Groin Might Give You a Different Story, Though

Day 1, Week 2 of Fitness Boot Camp is under my belt. I thought I had actually worked through the groin muscle pain until one particular move where you "shuffle" across half a field, and then switch and "shuffle" the second half. As soon as I switched, I felt my right groin scream at me. I yelped in unison.

Dr. Drill Instructor used a different approach today. He announced squad leaders. We have BEE Bach, who is all sorts of awesome. (She did this slide across the field on her belly - very reminiscent of Brandi Chastain or Mia Hamm!)

Each squad leader led us through one exercise and one stretch exercise. We then lined up into six squads. I'm in squad three. We were instructed there were stations where various exercises were conducted.

The following is my recollection of those exercises. It's 5:30am, and you're lucky I remember my name. As Dr. Drill says, I've got to wrap my tiny little brain around these items. Some of these items, I've made up names, but hopefully they give you a picture of what happened in each station. I'm a work in process. So is my brain and memory.

My squad went to four stations. To do so, we had to run various parts of what I affectionately call "the evil mo-fo mile." Our team ran a quarter of it, then got into formation. The first exercise was "shimmying" on all fours to the center of the space, and then do 20 squats. We repeated this twice.

Then, we ran to the next station, where we did lunges up a hill and then ran down the hill. We repeated this a number of times. Then we got down on our butts and pulled ourselves up the hill using our arms (this was to work out the triceps). We did this once, I believe, before another squad appeared.

We got up, and ran to the third station, by the picnic tables. We did reverse push-ups by getting in a sitting position with our backs against picnic table seats and using our arms pushed ourselves up. We did 20 of those. Then we did push-away squats, where we squatted and shoved ourselves away from the table. (20 of those). Then we did steps ups, basically stepping up with one foot on the picnic table seat, then lifting the other; getting down, and using the opposite leg, repeating the process 20 times. Our final piece in this station was to do pushups using the table, by pushing as close to the table as possible, the pushing away, clapping your hands together, and then repeating the process 20 times.

Our final station was our home field, where we did lunges half way across the field, then sprinted the second half of the field. We did squats, push ups, and one-armed holding positions with each arm. I'm forgetting the order now, but somewhere in there we did the shuffle across the field where I re-injured my righ groin muscle. We then ran back to the opposite end of the field, and did planks, super planks, modified sit ups, held our legs six inches from the ground and did circles clock-wise and counter clockwise, and then more more modified situps. As we were doing this, the five other squads were coming in, and at the end we did what I can only describe as a "squat showdown." We held this position for a long time.

We then came together, sat down, for school. Dr. Drill talked about the importance of discipline to make it through the program, and encouraged us to talk to our neighbors to the left and to the right to encourage them and to get to know them, as we will be in a team unit.

My trusty Philadelphia Eagles hat needed to be washed from last Friday's hour in the rain, so my head was soaked and covered with cut grass, as was the rest of my body. Note to self: buy multiple hats, be they baseball hats or skull caps.

I am glad I am done, and that I am starting off my day with this. While I'm not nearly as good as some of the others in the squad in terms of performance, I'm pushing myself as hard as I am able to go.

Today was a good day.

Fear of Full Metal Jacket Moment!

I am pleased to say I survived week one of Fitness Boot Camp. And when I say survived, I mean barely: This first week included getting a prescription for a rescue inhaler and pulling both groin muscles. Let's just say I have a new appreciation for the military recruits.

The instructors keep saying it's not a competition, but I've seen the Vincent D'Onofrio scene from Full Metal Jacket, and I'm a little nervous. We're supposed to do a baseline test on Monday.

It's been two days of rest. I am still sore in a few places, and I have no idea what that will mean for tomorrow.

Oye.

Still taking it a day at a time, but it is intimidating that there are 50-year-olds passing me during the running portion of the camp!!!

Oil...Can...

As I've written in a previous post, I decided to sign up for a Fitness Boot Camp.

Monday, I thought I had made a terrible mistake. I woke up at 4:30am, managed to get dressed, put on underarm deodorant, brushed my teeth, put on my trusty Philadelphia Eagles hat, and drove to the park. I was told on-time (5:30am) is late, so I got there at 5:15 and managed to get a parking space. There were a total of 100 "recruits" (newbies) and "veterans" who attended the first session.

I didn't realize how poorly out of shape I was until the calisthenics drill began. I managed to do a lot of them, but not all of them. I was wheezing so badly that I had to stop a few times. After 45 minutes worth of planks, side-straddle hops (the new-fangled way of saying jumpin' jacks), push ups, hello dollies, cherry pickers, and others I can't even remember the names of, we lined up in rows of three to run. At about a tenth of a mile, my allergies took over my lungs and I had to stop. I walked the rest of the way. I was the last one to join the platoon during Dr. Drill's first talk.

Needless to say I went home, feeling a little defeated. Pathetic. I stood under the hot water of my shower for about 40 minutes. My tired, aching muscles really appreciated the heat.

I got changed, and went to work. Later that night, I went to Manfriend's house, and as I promised, worked out on the elliptical. I managed to get in 19.08 minutes. Then he got on, and I zoned out.

I left his house, and crawled into bed, realizing I had to get up early AGAIN because I had to travel to Jersey for work in the morning. The alarm rang at 5:30am. I whimpered, and my legs were absolultely screaming at me. I managed to get ready and out the door to beat rush-hour traffic. I did a lot of walking on-site, and my legs were really starting to get ticked off, to the point where people were laughing at me as I struggled to get seated in various meetings.

I thought, "How the heck am I going to do this for eight weeks?"

My friend C wrote me during the day, providing words of encouragement. She said even though she's been through it twice, her legs were hurting, too.

As she advised, Tylenol would become my best friend on Tuesday night.

This morning, I heard thunder and lightning. I was kind of excited, thinking, "Ooooo. Maybe we'll work out indoors." No such luck. The skies cleared up in time for 5:30am, and we ran out to the field and worked out. I was covered in grass and mud by the time I left today. And I smushed two worms on the way down to do plank exercises. (Ew.)

My legs hurt just as much as they did yesterday, but I feel better about today. I ran a little, started to wheeze, walked the rest of the way, was the last person to sit down, again. It doesn't matter: I felt better about what I accomplished for the day. I'm just going to take it a day at a time.

If I had to set a long-term goal, it would be to get through all the exercises prior to the running. My guess is by week eight, I'll still be the last one to sit down, but perhaps I'll have a slow jog going, rather than a walk.

In the meantime, I am SORE. It's a good sore, but it's SORE nonetheless.

What's in a Name?

Manfriend has a very cool first name. It rhymes with "neato."

We went to a home improvement store on Sunday, in search of a patio set for his house. To his delight, the store was running a sale. He found a cart, grabbed a green table, six matching chairs and three side tables, and we walked up to the cashier.

He paid by credit card. She looked at his name on it, and said, "I really like your name."

"Well, thank you," Manfriend said with a smile.

"Yes," she continued, "because you can be called by that. I can't stand it when people are given a name, and other people shorten it. Makes no sense to me. Like, when someone names their kid Joseph, and they call him Joe..." (She said Joe with a sneer.)

Oooookay, then.

I had to look away, as Manfriend was dumbfounded by the exchange. He recovered nicely. He smiled, politely took his card, wished the cashier a happy Memorial Day weekend, and we walked out with his stash.

As we strolled to the exit, Manfriend whispered out of the side of his mouth, "Yep...it's definitely you!" We both started to laugh.

Tonight, he asked me if this was the same home improvement store I went to where I was accosted with Grandpop spittle. (It was.)

"Why do you keep going there?"

Angry

Today was a tough day. I behaved in a way un-befitting a professional, and I am pissed off at myself. Worse yet, I was angry, and I did the one thing one should not do in an office setting: I cried.

Granted, they were angry tears, but they were tears nonetheless. In my field, there's no crying. There's no crying in I.T., and yet there I was. Pissed off. Angry. Tears flowing. Eyes beet red and swollen. Pissed off, and no longer able to control the anger, the tears flowed down my face.

For a brief few minutes, I didn't give a shit. You know what, I'm pissed. Here's what Pissed looks like. It's not pretty, and sometimes it comes with tears and snot. Piss off.

My manager sat there in shock. He was used to a happier, have-it-all-together, sane person. This was not the person who was in front of him. He did not know quite what to do with me. So, he took me out to lunch. You know, the way a father would take a four year old out for ice cream when she lost a baseball game. Or, get the crazy lady out of the office. Either way, not good. I was so embarrassed by my behavior. I kept apologizing. He told me to stop beating myself up, that it wasn't personal.

I don't know why people don't understand this: It is personal. If we're lucky in today's economic environment, we go to a place of employ, and we spend over a third of our time during the week there. We work hard to enjoy the life we have outside of work. If that hard work is questioned or countered, it equates to a potential altering of our personal lives. So, please - don't tell me it's not personal.

(Yeah. Still pissed off. Can you tell?)

Some days I wish I had the - what's the word? courage? balls? - forethought to collect myself and defend my position, rather than cry or clam up. This applies professionally and personally. Then I think to myself I'd be throwing someone under the proverbial bus if I did so. I wouldn't like myself much if that happened, either. So, the alternative: tears.

One day, I'm going to find my Inner Voice in these situations. Lord help the universe when I do.

Until then, I'm going to be grouchy. And have a cookie. So there.

Private Benjamin with Kettle Bells

It's been a while since I've posted. I've been distracted.

I have a birthday coming up soon, and I think it's time for reinvention. My friend, C, has been talking about her time in a Fitness Boot Camp. It's run by a chiropractor who was also a Marine. (He signs his e-mails with Semper fidelis.) She said it's done wonders for her, and has said to everyone "you should do this!"

Now, I will say this: She is a feisty warrior without the boot camp training. She's up for any challenge.

I've been trying - trying! - to get back to a normal exercise regimen. Manfriend purchased an elliptical, and we were working out three times a week. We were going at a good clip, but we stopped this week (lots of work just knocked both of us out). We plan on returning to our normal schedule this week, but I want to ramp up my exercise routine. The elliptical is awesome for my legs, but I still am experiencing the "chicken wing" arms. I went to a wedding recently for a family friend, G, and she has these killer arms. I am admittedly very envious!

So, I took the plunge, and signed up for an eight-week stint with the local Fitness Boot Camp. I will go through a physical tomorrow to determine if I can go through with the program (I don't see any problems.). The Fitness Boot Camp is three times a week, from 5:30am to 6:30am. Yes, I did say AM. It's also all outside.

When I tell you this will be a challenge, it will be a challenge. I hate the outdoors. Nature doesn't like me much, either. I've had "tree issues:" They've fallen on my house and my fence, and they are costing me a small fortune to remove them.

I really want to do this, so that I know I can do this. Will I be running marathons after this? Um, no. But, at least I will feel like I've attempted multiple avenues to maintain my health and weight.

OORAH! I've enlisted.

Things that shouldn't make me laugh and yet do...

Quick post:

My younger dog is blind; my older dog is deaf. Older dog was asleep on the floor; younger dog was asleep on the couch directly above older dog. Younger dog decided to jump to the floor. Older dog can't hear younger dog jump; younger dog can't see what's below him.

Result: Younger dog scares crap out of older dog; older dog growls at younger dog; younger dog still doesn't know what he did.

LMAO.

Like I said... I know it shouldn't have made me laugh. Yet... *giggle*